


Canon Died in a Fire and I'm Bringing Marshmallows

by Niko_Niko_Neek



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-12-27 10:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21117122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niko_Niko_Neek/pseuds/Niko_Niko_Neek
Summary: Season three? No clue who she is.





	1. Chapter 1

Now that he thinks about it, Ladybug started to fall apart around the same time that Marinette started not coming to school.

Adrien considers himself a reasonably observant person, even though some things do tend to slip over his head-things that Nino sometimes laughs about even when he’s not trying to be mean. It had taken a fairly reasonable talk with him to determine that the way Chloe talked to him and the others wasn’t particularly polite, or acceptable. It had taken longer to begin sorting his way through other things-like maybe the midst of an intense and stressful battle wasn’t the greatest time to shout about your feelings for your partner, or the fact that fathers didn’t typically lock their sons in the house for multiple days.

He still wasn’t too sure about that last thing. The other two were easier to sort through, and he was still very embarrassed at the second thing, cringing at the thought with his ears heating up dramatically.

But more to the point, something he’s never had difficulty with (or at least not in a long time,) was reading his partner. In a lot of ways, it was an essential skill. If you were in a dangerous situation and didn’t have at least a reasonable guess at what action your teammate is going to carry out, you may as well hand in your Miraculous and wish the best of luck to the next fellow. 

And Ladybug has started to crack.

It’s a truth he views with an unbearable sense of concern and frustration. They are friends, the two of them-the closest friends they had, and that’s something he’s never had a doubt of in his heart. When the chips were down, regardless of petty spats or frustration between the two of them, Ladybug and Chat Noir would save each other over and over again, as many times as it took. It was what they did. It was the promise they had made to each other.

And now, struggling under a weight Adrien can scarcely guess at, burdened by worries he can only imagine, withdrawing further and further untill the two of them scarcely exchange words outside of “Hello” and “What’s the plan?”, he finds himself at a sheer loss as to how to help her.

He doesn’t know where she lives, where she goes to school, or who her other friends are. He doesn’t know if she lives in Paris, or one of the neighboring provinces. He doesn’t know if things are stressed for her at home, or at school, or in some other aspect of her life, and more to the point, he doesn’t know how to make it go away.

As for Marinette, well, he worries for her. But it’s difficult to tell how he’d be able to help. He’s not sure if they’re close enough for him to ask those sorts of things. He enjoys Marinette, enjoys her company and her humor, and is certain that if she happened to approach him with stress lined in her forehead and asked-even awkwardly-for his advice or a listening ear, he would drop whatever he was doing and take a walk with her.

But she doesn’t ask, and so, in a form of what he hopes is mutual understanding, Adrien doesn’t offer.

But he keeps an eye out when he can.

It’s past midnight now, and Adrien has yet to sleep. Things in the mansion are as deathly quiet as always and, once again, he finds himself lying in his bed and wishing for some noise-even something quiet, like the clinking of dishes being washed, or chatter. Even a screaming match overhead from his bedroom would be at least something different.

But, of course, nothing comes-which is what leads him to rouse a disgruntled Plagg (who complains, as always, but also doesn’t refuse,) slip from his window, and make his way to the Eiffel.

The Eiffel tower is what most people likely thought of when the image of France came to mind, but truthfully, Adrien never thought it was all that impressive. It isn’t as tall as it looks, for one thing, and there have been so many weddings, photoshoots and tourists that all have flocked to the area, that he now views it as little more than a hyped-up garden statue.

But there’s something more about the tower, something only he and his pertner associate it with. The Eiffel is the non-official meeting place for when neither of them can sleep.

Normally it’s due to the same kinds of things. The previous battle was too close of a call not to produce nightmares, homework ran late and now neither of them were tired, or some other reason altogether. But that was the meeting spot. Sometimes it would just be one of them there, and sometimes not, but even alone, it provided a change of place nd a sense of comfort.

As Chat approaches, however, it soon becomes clear he isn’t alone at all.

Uncanny, the way the two of them always seem to sense whenever something was wrong.

He clears his throat to alert her to his presence, mostly because she’s sitting on a thicker beam with her legs hanging off the edge, and if he startles her, he’s worried she’ll go flying off. It’s clear he’s inturrupted some quiet moment of introspection, however, as her shoulders stiffen instantly and she turns her face away.

“I, uh, don’t suppose I should ask if you come here often,” Chat offers, his tone hesitent, almost shy.

For a moment, Ladybug seems panicked. She looks back towards him and, upon recognition, gives a quiet sigh. “Hello, Chat.”

He makes no qualms about sitting beside her. He still leaves enough space between them so, if she came up here for solitude, he wasn’t pressing further into her space.

He isn’t sure if the look on her face is relief. In fact, he contemplates with his heart sinking, she and Marinette sometimes share the same tired expression, and that’s never been more painfully obvious than now. He’s sure that, if the mask were gone, he’d see rings that proved the lack of sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

Beside him, she swallows and offers a small nod. “Something like that.”

Akwardness seems to permeate the air between the two of them. Chat, as always, tries to break through.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a candlelight dinner under my sleeve this time around,m’lady, but if you give me a few minutes, maybe I’ll be able to whip something up.”

He doesn’t get a laugh out of her. Instead, she merely tucks her hands near her elbows and says, “I’m not really in the right space for anything like that.”

Right. So that fell flat. His foot swings in the air, back and forth, nervously, and he looks up at the stars as though they’ll give him an explanation.

“...Here’s an idea,” he finally says. “I’ll try and guess what’s bothering you. And I get three, okay? And if I don’t get close in three, I’ll leave you alone.”

There’s no response. He decides to try anyway.

“....Is it a boy or something?”

She scoffs. 

“Just had to get that out of the way first.” Chat offers an apologetic smile, which isn’t returned. Ladybug is staring fixedly in the streets below.

“....I guess...Hm.” He reaches up, scratches his chin. “I guess that something’s going on and...Well, maybe you feel like you can’t talk to anybody about it.”

“You don’t have to keep doing this, Chat Noir.” Ladybug replies, and there’s an edge to her voice which suggest more frustration than he could’ve guessed at. “You don’t know me, just like I don’t really know you. So what’s the point in trying?”

The comment could’ve hurt, if he’d let it, but he’s said childish things when upset, so he doesn’t take it so seriously. “I know a couple of things. Not everything.”

“Like?”

“I know you’re brave-braver than me, most of the time.”

That, at least, wrestles a small smile out of her. “That’s not always true, Chat.”

He continues. “I know you hate knock-knock jokes probably more than you hate puns. I know you’re incredibly smart-which is something a lot of people don’t seem to guess, which is weird. I know that, a lot of the time, when something’s bugging you, you don’t tell anyone and you decide that it has to be just you who figures it out without any help from anybody else.  
But-since we’re friends, and it’s midnight, and I’m pretty sure nobody can hear us up here, maybe I could give it a shot.”

She hasn’t looked at him, but her expression began to soften the longer he spoke, even if there’s still so much seeming to weigh on her. 

“Chat...Have you ever…” She pauses again, seeming to choose her words with caution. “Has someone ever asked you to do something, something important, something that...That couldn’t fail, at any cost...And you just weren’t sure you were the right person to do it?”

Adrien thinks back to his mother’s funeral. Remembers his father instructing him to stand up straight. To shake hands. To stop crying.

“I think I might know something about that.”

Ladybug sighs, heavily, and the stiffness in her shoulders deflates. “Master Fu..Gave me a job to do. An important one. Didn’t really ask if I wanted it or not, just gave it to me and told me it was my responsibility, and then just skipped town and left me to deal with it, and it’s not something anyone can help me with, or that I can tell anyone about. I feel like my friends at school just aren’t even close to getting it, and there’s this one older guy who’s really nice but-...I don’t know, I feel like something’s going to go wrong with him because something always does-”

Chat feels like his heart is breaking for her the longer she goes on, but speaks up anyway. “Ladybug? You’re forgetting to breathe.”

A long, slow exhale leaves her, and his heart breaks a little more

“You really can’t tell me?”

She looks at him for a moment and shakes her head, and he can tell she hurts more about that fact than even he does.

He sighs. “Okay.”

It isn’t okay-not because he’s out of the loop, but because she’s so clearly crumbling beneath the weight of whatever this thing is, and it’s not fair that he can’t help the way he’s meant to do.

“I don’t mean to dump all this on you, Kitty.” Ladybug says. “I really don’t.”

“That’s why there’s always two,” Chat replies. “Through history, I mean. There’s always a Chat when there’s a Ladybug, and there’s always a Ladybug when there’s a Chat. And it’s for stuff like this.”

For a moment, Ladybug looks at him. Then, she shifts over and leans the side of her head against his shoulder.

“Would it be bad,” she says after a moment, “If I said I loved you? I’m not in love with you, Chat, not that way, but..”

He understands. Sitting there with her, miles above Paris with more weight on her shoulders than she can describe, he knows what she means, and draws an arm over her shoulders.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.” Ladybug mumbles, and tucks her face into his neck. One gloved hand rests against his back. “Sometimes you’re my only friend. I love you for that.”

He hates that he keeps hoping for more, keeps hoping that eventually he’ll say or do the proper thing and it’ll click. But in the moment, it’s enough to be near her and to be overwhelmingly certain that, in their own way and in their own time, they are together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A take on the Chat Blanc trailer. Spoilers ahead for the trailer only-the rest is just from my own brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive responses! Suggestions are always welcome :)

She is as pale as porcelain, as still as a wax figure. If Adrien stares hard enough, he can almost fool himself into thinking she’s breathing.

Perhaps she is. He’s only able to look for a few seconds.

“This,” the voice above him drones. “This is my responsibility. This is why you can never understand.”

The voice of Hawkmoth, measured and even, seems to be coming at him as though from a fog, as if he is six feet underwater in the Siene, far away from everyone-away from the woman in the glass coffin, away from the familiar voice which he now recognizes so easily that it’s a wonder how he’d never been able to before. Chat doesn’t remember falling, only realizes dimly that he is now on the ground. Even from a lower level, he can still see his mother’s hands folded across her chest, the skin still neat and as white as it was on the day they had buried her.

He’d been told the coffin was empty, and even afterwards, had always insisted that she was missing. Not dead. Missing.

And he’d found her.

“I wish it could be easier for you.” The voice comes again, and Adrien can hear regret. “I wish there was another way.”

_There was,_ Chat thinks._ You could have tried. Tried anything else._

A gloved hand grips his own and his fingers are pried open like tinfoil.

“Just give me the ring and we can go home, _fiston_.”

He makes it sound so easy, but then, Papa always does.

However, the warmth around his hand dissipated with a violent shout. A woman’s voice, accompanied by a flash of red. For the first time, there is no emotion connected to Ladybug’s appearence. Chat only remains crouched, and is only raised to his feet when she tugs him up.

“Kitty, we’ve got to go.”

She’s knocked Hawmoth down, but he’s already getting to his feet. They don’t have the time nor power to fight him here, not now, not with Chat in the state that he is and his mother a potential for the crossfire. He knows this-the bit of his mind that doesn’t feel as though it’s been plunged into ice water is shouting that he needs to run, but he can’t move.

“Chat?”

His voice is a cracking groan. “_Maman_.”

Ladybug’s jaw sets and he sees her make the decision for him. One arm wraps firmly around his waist and, wasting no time, she begins to drag him out of the basement. Though he knows it’s what must be done, Chat finds himself fighting her.

“Chat, we have to go.”

“I can’t. I _can’t_!”

She doesn’t listen and, absurdly, he feels himself lifted off of his feet as Ladybug hoists him over her shoulder with a strength he dimly realizes makes sense, but wasn’t one he ever fully considered. His hand reaches out for his parents and, all at once, he is four years old and Nathalie is carrying him to his room and he is watching the argument in the living room recede slowly away, grateful to have been removed, but desperate as always to be a part of things.

But he feels too weak to fight, and Ladybug is too fast. In a trip that he doesn’t seem to be able to fully process, Chat and Ladybug find themselves in the spare room of the Agreste mansion, one that he recognizes as being used for storage. They are sitting behind a cardboard box, one of many that stand between them and the door. Though he is no longer over her shoulder, Ladybug hasn’t yet let go of him. There is a cold fire in her eyes, and she watches the door as though she is biding her time for it to open.

“We can’t hurt him,” he finally croaks. 

At once, her anger melts. A hand runs through his hair.

“Chat?”

He hasn’t realized that he began shaking. His breath comes too fast.

“We can’t hurt him. If we do anything-anything at all-he’ll do something to Mama, or to me-Oh my God, _he knows who I am now_-”

“Kitty, look at me. Look right here.” Hands frame his face, moving her head so that blue eyes meet green. “What are you feeling?”

Like floating away. “I don’t-”

“Is it hot or cold?”

The question is so confusing that it startles him out of his spiral. “It….Cold? Colder than outside.”

Ladybug nods and takes his hand, guides it to rest near her left collarbone. “What about that? Can you feel that?”

At first he’s puzzled, but then the steady thud-thud of her pulse becomes tangible beneath his palm. Chat nods.

“Focus. Just focus and match my breathing for right now. We’ll figure the rest out later, I promise you.”

He believes her. He always does.

The moments pass in silence and eventually, Chat feels his breaths lengthening and reaching his stomach, filling it entirely. He still feels partially shattered, but he isn’t floating anymore. Her grip on his wrist is too real.

“.....He kept her.” Chat talks slowly, as if he can barely form the thought. Ladybug’s expression flickers into pain. “He kept her like that.”

“I know. If he wasn’t…” That fury comes to her face again. “If things were different, I’d kill him.”

The statement is wildly out of character, but he knows she probably means it. The thought is frightening, but if the situation was reversed, he’d feel the same. He knows that.

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles, and his eyes finally fall from hers. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where I’m gonna go.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Ladybug tilts his chin up. “You’re coming with me. As long as you need to.”

His brow furrows. “I don’t even know where you live.”

The gloved hand cups his cheek and the reply, when it comes, is less of a revelation and more of a quiet sense of understanding.

“Adrien. You know exactly who I am.”

And he does. Not consciously, maybe, but the knowledge that his Ladybug and his friend were one and the same seems to have been quietly filed away along with the thirty other things his brain doesn’t want to consider-the shady circumstances surrounding his mother’s disappearance, the similarities between his father and Hawkmoth.

His hands covers hers. “I know.”

A beat, and then she kisses him. Once. Softly.

“You’ll be okay.”

And, again, he believes her.

The walk back to the Dupain-Cheng household is quiet. It’s passed midnight by the time they had left the storage closet, confident that Hawkmoth had either been too overcome with emotion or simply too disinterested to pursue them. The streets are quiet, an inky blue where it isn’t splashed with the gold of the streetlights. Adrien wobbles occasionally on the cobblestone, which seems to press up at him through his converse.

Marinette holds his hand the whole way.

Occasionally she talks, quiet, entirely unrelated to the situation they had just left. She motions to a resteraunt that they pass, tells him that she and Kagami have agreed that it’s the only real Asian food in the city center. She mentions their homework assignment. She tells him that her mother would appreciate it if he took his shoes off when he comes in.

He nods every so often, but Marinette doesn’t expect him to respond. He loves her for it.

The occasional noise of chatter from bar patrons or the roar of traffic or motorcycles interrupt them, but Marinette’s voice is present through all of it, quiet but warm, a spool of string to find his way through the maze.

She unlocks the shop, which stands dark, but not empty. He follows her in, wincing a little despite himself at the tinkle of the bell hung above the door. True to his word, Adrien toes off his shoes and sets them in the corner, alongside a line-one pair of large men’s loafers and a small set of black flats. 

“You’re sure this is okay?”

“Promise.” She offers a weak grin and squeezes his hand. “I’ll get up early and talk to them tomorrow morning when we open. They’ll understand.”

At this instance, he’s not sure he believes her, but is too numb and tired to argue. He follows Marinette upstairs and sits in a chair, staring as she tries to set a futon up for him. She works with the practiced ease of someone who’s had many sleepovers in her life, which doesn’t surprise him. For about a week, Alya seemed to practically live here.

The rollaway sleeping pad is thin, but she covers it in a thick layer of blankets and pillows that looks a great deal more comfortable than his bed at home. Sheepishly, she tells him that the bathroom is just down the hall, and that they can figure out about his clothes and things later. He stays down a level as she goes up to get ready for bed.

His mind is replicating the self-devouring snake, chasing the same cycle of topics. His father, his mother, Hawkmoth, Marinette. His father, his mother, Hawkmoth, Marinette. His father, losing his grip on the real world, his mother, preserved with all the skill of the best mortician, alive and yet not alive. Hawkmoth, who knows who he is and how to find him.

“Adrien, I know it’s really stupid, but are you okay?”

His eyes flick up. Marinette.

He answers her honestly. “I don’t know.”

She clearly doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t blame her for it. “Do you need anything from me?”

“Can you stay down here?”

The request is childish and stupid, but baffelingly, Marinette nods. Moonlight highlights the soft curve of her jaw, the pensive and concerned expression. She’s working on a plan, he realizes, even now.

“....Kitty, I’m sorry.” Sighing heavily, Marinette’s legs all but give out as she sits beside him. “I’m sorry that happened. I feel like I couldn’t protect you.”

“Stuff happens,” he says, but his voice is shaking and, all at once, heat rises in his throat and behind his eyes and he’s sobbing.

He all but crumbles over, his forehead resting against his knees, and he feels Marinette fold around him, fingers loosely gripping the hair at the back of his neck, her arm wrapped tight around his shoulders. He’s a quiet crier out of necessity, and for once he’s grateful for that, because it means it won’t wake her parents. After a while, though, he hears a sniffle above him, and realizes Marinette is crying too.

Eventually, the crying ceases.

They fall asleep facing each other.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas Special bc I Own The Series Now. Post-Reveal.

Dark came early anymore, and as Adrien ambled his way up the sidewalk, it came as a surprise that it was only four o’ clock in the evening. The sun had begun to set already-or at least, what he could see of the sun. The sky had been the same shade of grey for most of the day, providing a hazy backdrop for the flurry of snow that had been coming down off and on. At the moment, they were falling again, large flakes that clustered in his hair and on top of his shoulders, giving him the appearance of having really terrible dandruff. Though he was wrapped pretty warmly against the chill, in a thick green sweater and coat, along with the scarf Marinette had given him two years ago, his nose and cheeks were already beginning to sting.

The distant sound of Noël Blanc echoed warmly down the streets from the speakers installed in the shopping square. Across the street, Adrien spotted none other than nino, still wearing his red cap and appearing to be puzzling over the window display of a jewelry store.

Delighted, Adrien crossed over to meet his friend-he still had a bit of time before he was expected.

“Hey, Nino!” He settled a hand on the boy’s shoulder, grinning. “Having some trouble.”

“Adrien, bro, thank God.” Nino exhaled a sigh of relief. “Listen, I’m trying to pick something out for Alya-”

“A bit last minute, Nino. It’s Christmas Eve already!”

“Yeah, I _know._ But listen, I’m trying to pick something-what do you think of something like this?”

Adrien squinted past their reflection in the glass in order to see what Nino was indicating-a particularly large looking ring with an emerald in the center.

“Nino, my guy, that looks both way too many Euros and not at all Alya’s style.”

Nino groaned. “Damn, I knew it. Do you see anything else? C’mon, Adrien, you’re my last hope, here. You always pick good gifts for people!”

Smiling at the compliment, Adrien’s expression soon lapsed to thoughtfulness. “For Alya, I would think something small that won’t get too much in the way of her journalist shenanigans. Maybe a necklace that’s a little shorter like….Hm.” He peered into the window, only to have his eyes light up. “Woah, Nino, look there!!”

Nino’s chin came to rest on his shoulder as he spotted what Adrien had seen. It was a small necklace, gleaming gold in color (though to Adrien’s fashioned trained eye, he suspected it was just tempered metal). The pendant was in the design of a small fox, sitting with it’s tail wrapped around its feet.

“That’s perfect,” Nino breathed, before enveloping Adrien in a tight hug, patting his back firmly. “You’re my savior like always, Adrien. You have a great Christmas, okay?”

“Y’know,” Adrien, replied happily, “I think I actually will this year.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“Marinette! Honey, when’s he going to get here? I have a whole rack of sweets getting cold…”

The girl in question glanced over her shoulder. She wasn’t exactly looking put together-there was a smear of flour on her nose, and she was quick to turn her attention back to the cookie she was decorating, squeezing the tube of frosting with as much accuracy as she could manage. She wasn’t exactly adept at the fine-motor required to decorate sweets in the way her father was, but Christmas always meant an influx of orders, and her parents needed all the help they could get.

“He’ll head over soon, Mom. It’s not even five yet.”

“Alright…”

Over the cookie tray, Marinette smiled. Her mom seemed more anxious for Adrien’s arrival than she was. Both Sabine and Tom had been anxious about it ever since Adrien had begun coming over to their house as a friend (and Marinette suspected that the snacks her father made had something to do with that, too), and as the years had crept on and he’d become a more constant figure in their family, Sabine was probably already planning their wedding.

Marinette herself sometimes was thrown by how much everything had changed last year, when an Akuma attack had nearly cost the both of them their lives and they decided that, rules or not, they’d wanted to know. To be able to protect each other, with the mask or not.

At the recollection, however long ago, Marinette felt herself blushing. Adrien had been unfairly romantic about the whole thing.

The quiet jingle of the bell above the shop door heralded Adrien’s arrival, and Marinette ducked her head out of the kitchen in time to see him carefully remove his boots.

“In here!”

It wasn’t very long after he’d removed his coat and scarf that she felt warmth envelop her back, his arms already wrapped snugly around her waist. Warm pressure was felt at her cheek, making her laugh and duck her head away. 

“Merry Christmas, Princess.”

“My dad is literally right there, Adrien.”

Over her shoulder, Adrien shot an amicable smile in Tom’s direction. “Hi, Tom!”

“Hello, Adrien. Not too cold out there?”

“Definitely warmer in here.” came the mischievous reply, and Marinette responded by shoving his face away from her. “Eat a cookie before my Mom has cardiac arrest, okay? I’m almost done with these.”

“Cookies?!” And like magic, she can see the familiar, gleeful expression she’d always expected when the prospect of sweets was offered to her Chat. In record time, he’s crossed the kitchen to say hello to Sabine, who once again cups his face and frowns.

“You aren’t eating enough. Look at this boy, Marinette! He’s like a lamppost.”

Adrien does well not to completely eradicate the sweets her mother has prepared, but he certainly doesn’t say no to any additional ones she presses on him. In time, Marinette has finished the last of the order, and dusts flour onto her apron.

“Alright. I’m guessing now you’re going to force me to open my present a day early?”

“Maybe so.”

It’s a minute or two more of small talk before the two retreat up to Marinette’s room. The ‘leave the door open a crack’ policy was (embarrassingly) enforced by her father months ago, and she gently eases the trapdoor open enough so that her parents can be sure no illicit activity is taking place.

“You’re opening yours first, you know,” Marinette points out as Adrien seats himself on the edge of her bed. “I spent too long on it not to see your face when you open it.”

“You made me something?” Despite the fact that they’ve been officially dating for several months (and unofficially probably longer than that), Adrien still looks whole-heartedly surprised at the prospect. 

“Obviously goof.” She nods to the rectangular cardboard box sitting wrapped on her desk. “Go on!”

Adrien has no reservations about tearing the package open, and her chest warms at his delightes expression as he holds up the garment. It’s a black sweater, knitted from a material she knew he liked, with a bright green paw-print in the center. The design had been tricky to do with the type of material for the sweater, and she had sported a few pricked fingers as a result, but as Adrien quickly trade his sweater out to put the new one on, she decides it’s well worth it.

“Good gift?”

“Obviously,” Adrien replied, quick to cross and give Marinette an almost too-tight hug. “Particularly knowing it’s hand-stitched by the most talented, cleverest, bravest-”

“Down, Kitty.” She grins up at him before leaning up on her toes to kiss him briefly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it.” his smile softens gently, at least before he steps back. “But I’d love it even more if you opened yours!”

It’s not long before she’s being handed a small, rectangular box. She gives Adrien a skeptical look.

“It’s nothing expensive, I promise.”

“Hmm…” Still, she opens the lid, and is momentarily puzzled when all that greets her is a small business card. There’s a nice design of some pink flowers in one corner, and written in elegant cursive is typed, _Dupaine-Cheng Clothing Line._

“...It needs some explaining.” Adrien reaches up to scratch the back of his neck as Marinette examined the business card with some confusion. “So, I’ve been pulling a few things together since a couple of months ago, trying to get into contact with some of my father’s associates. I met this lady during Fashion week last year, Madame Lauraunt. She was interested in taking some up-and-coming students and giving them an opportunity to open some online business as a seasonal designer under her brand. You definitely don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, and I don’t want you to feel pressured, I just thought I’d-”

As he’d been speaking, Marinette’s eyes had been growing steadily wider as the whole aspect of the gift settled in. This wasn’t just a business card, it was...It was _her_ business card. It was an opportunity for exposure, for a career path...Maybe even fame! Maybe even a debut at one of the shows!

Before Adrien could even finish speaking, Marinette had tackled him. Normally, he would’ve been able to catch her with no problem-she was a relatively small girl-but having the full velocity of Marinette running at you when you were totally unprepared was no contest. With a quiet “Oof!” Adrien was knocked backwards onto the bed, and with no chance for respite, because a second after that, Marinette seemed to be determined to kiss every square inch of his face.

“That-Okay, so-Good idea?” Adrien managed, voice slightly muffled.

“Best-” Marinette pecked his nose, “Boyfriend-” She kissed his forehead, “_Ever._” She pressed a final kiss to his mouth.

Adrien laughed, reaching up to wrap his arms around her. “Good. I was worried it would be too invasive.”

“You’re crazy.” With a content sigh, Marinette snuggled her head against his chest, reaching over to thread her fingers through his. “I’ve been working towards something like this for...I don’t even know how long.” She lifted her head in order to get a better look at his face, her brow furrowed. “She really thinks I’m good enough?”

“Hey.” Adrien sat up partially in order to look Marinette squarely in the face. “Hell yes she does.”

Her skeptical look turns slowly into a fond smile, and she leans up to press her forehead to his. “I’m, like, _disgustingly_ in love with you. You know that, right?”

“Could I get that in writing, Milady?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever you celebrate, I hope you have a fantastic one. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sith!Adrien AU that literally nobody asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last chapter was just too happy.

Half a million cuts sear against Adrien’s skin, his legs shaking with strain and effort. The floor seems to tilt beneath him, as though he is on board a crashing spacecraft, swaying on his feet. His mentor’s voice is controlled and flat.

“If you hate me,” Gabriel says, “Then it is all the better.”

Behind his forehead, Adrien’s dizziness worsens. He cannot remember the last time he ate. He dimly remembers the last time he’d slept. But only dimly.

This is the training of the Sith.

Grueling, merciless and relentless warriors can only be spawned through grueling, merciless and relentless training. It is not kindness that is extended to him when the holofigure, flickering blue, strikes out and sends a buzzing jolt of pain into his arm. It is not with pride or with sympathy that his father regards his progress, his mouth drawn into a thin, flat line.

It is only his eyes, like two distant points of light from a building long deserted, that gleam with impatience.

The fog of exhaustion in Adrien’s head flattens, jolted away by the shock of pain, and a familiar brew of fury begins to fester. He hates this room, the training room with it’s obsidian walls. He hates the stupid, flat imitation face of the training figure. More than these, he hates the man watching him.

Scarlet erupts out into a web of points and, with an accuracy that seems eerily practice, Adrien cuts the figure down. On his leap, however, his right leg gives out, and he hits the ground on his side, hard. His saber winks out.

Footsteps, heavy and booted, approach him.

“You must wonder why I am doing this to you.”

Adrien steels himself, expecting a hard kick to his ribs or spine. Instead, his father kneels and places a hand on his shoulder that Adrien might have even thought kind, if he didn’t know better.

“This is so you can have what you want, Adrien. Whatever you want. That is the philosophy I have been trying to teach you.”

He remembers the first time his father had asked him what he’d wanted. He hadn’t known the man as his father at the time, having associated his family with the Jedi he’d grown up surrounded by. He’d been baffled then, at age fifteen, to have been asked so frankly what it was he had wanted.

That is the first step to the Sith. Looking inwards.

Oddly enough, it had been done for him by looking outwards.

\----------------------

He is fourteen when he meets Marinette.

Adrien stands short for his age, even as a padawan, with his fellow trainees all standing a solid head shorter than him. His mentor, Nathalie, smiles and calls this a lesson of patience, which he firmly resents.

Their current assignment is strictly diplomatic, meaning boring in Adrien’s case. His skills with a saber are nearly instinctual, but it is the opinion of his mentor that he is not yet suited for any serious combat, which makes no sense for him. He does well in the training simulations, even when frustrated. Actually, when he’s frustrated, he does better.

The planet they arrive to is situated with the perfect construct of atmosphere, pressure and altitude to produce a perpetual downpour of rain. The locals either carry rain slickers or energy-fueled devices which bend the water away from themselves like some invisible umbrella.

He is left behind to wait with the ship while Nathalie ensures the presence of their contact, and is already soaked despite his hood when he sees the girl drop her bag, the contents of which spill across the rainsoaked ground.

A flurry of cuss words fly from the girl’s mouth as she kneels in an attempt to gather them, and only when a few of the items start to spark does Adrien understand. Cables and spare parts, when left untempered, are subject to shorting out under water contact.

He approaches quickly, lifts a hand up, and stops the rain where it falls above her.

The girl doesn’t seem to understand at first. It’s only when she looks up, squinting in confusion, do her eyes widen and she sees him.

Adrien grins. “Better pick those up. They could still break on you.”

It is not the last time he sees her.

The last time he sees her, she will be dead.  
\-------

This is the rule of two.

At any given time, in any given corner of the galaxy, there exist but two Sith-a master and an apprentice. If the apprentice is weak, if they lack the necessary makings of a true servant to the dark, if they are taken by fear or weakness or madness, the master ends them. And if the reverse is true-if the student grows cunning, wise and trained, to the point wherein they outrank their teacher-the student will cut them down and take their place.

This has always been the way.

Standing above his son, collapsed but still conscious, Gabriel feels the grip of impatience. Again he feels the urge to simply eliminate Adrien and turn his attention elsewhere. 

But below him, his son’s eyes burn yellow with the corrosive force of power, and his hand is stayed.

This is why he has chosen the boy. Not born of paternal instinct, but because the two share the same flaw which, when nurtured, becomes an inextinguishable force of nature.

The two are united in their hatred of the world.

“Stand. You will try again.”

Adrien, limbs shaking, barely manages to stand. His father is only half correct in his assumptions of Adrien’s motivation. It is deep anger that fuels him, but there is more two it than simple contempt.

Nearly everything he has done, since he first forced the rain away, has been for Marinette.

The destructive drive of the force thrums through him like the breath of some great dragon and again, just as he had every night for the past two years, he sees the small and still form of the young mechanic amid the rubble. The holo-figure flickers once again into life, and Adrien shouts a question into the Force, a silent scream.

_Not one of you could have saved her?_

\--------

The hole, round, smoking, glowing a faint orange with embers, is charred at the center of Marinette’s chest.

The shot is sudden, unexpected, not even meant for her. Adrien had been the target, had already sensed the intent of the bounty hunter a moment before the trigger was pulled, and was already reaching for his saber.

The teachings of his mentor, the proverbs of the Jedi, not a single shred of light philosophy is fast enough.

Marinette looks confused. His name is a feeble and confused question from her lips.

She falls.

\-------

The hole, round, smoking, glowing a faint orange with embers, is charred at the center of Gabriel’s chest.

His son, blade still casting a bloody glow in the room, stands above the body with contempt.

This is the rule of One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your comments! I really do enjoy reading every single one :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought the Chat Blanc saga called for more of an aftermath than it was given. Have some MariChat.

It’s around two in the morning when she finally tears herself out of the nightmare.

Her chest is almost painfully constricted, one hand clenching the front of her sleep shirt in an attempt to quell it. Her limbs feel staticy, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end. Adrenaline courses through her and she searches the empty bedroom, at any moment expecting to see an ice-blue glint in the shadows. Even the silence seems to be a threat, a prelude of something awful to come. Logically, she knows she’s left him behind, knows that there is no feasible method he could use to tear through realities and come back. But a terrified, shrill voice in the back of her mind doubts that certainty. A shiver runs through her.

Somehow, even weeks after the encounter, she is still expecting Chat Blanc to show up and extract his revenge.

A faintly trembling hand reaches up to wipe the cold sweat from her forehead. This has become a frequent thing, the nightmares. Only flashes remain in her memory, visually, but stronger than all of them is the dread, the knowledge that if somehow Chat Blanc managed to appear, she would be a dead girl walking. Distantly, she feels relief that the Sand Boy was already struck down by her and the real Chat. She knows full well what her great fear would be now, and it makes losing her powers seem like a sunny day in the park.

Paris continues outside her window, the faint glow from nearby shops and complexes being the only source of illumination. Tikki fidgets restlessly on her pillow, still asleep, but her intrinsic connection to Marinette being strong enough to sense the discomfort. She’s just managed to deepen her breathing when she hears a creak from the roof.

Footsteps.

She freezes, a bolt of dread nailing her to where she sits. _He’s come,_ the nonsensical part of her brain thinks. _You can’t run or hide from him. Even if he’s twisted, he’s still Chat. He knows you._

As though in reply, the familiar ‘shave and a haircut’ patterned knock sounds from the trapdoor of the roof. Even if it’s the set code between herself and Chat Noir, it seems to carry a sinister edge that freezes her to the core.

“Hey, I know you’re up down there. I can see your light on. How come you’re avoiding me, huh?”

She feels blood drain from her face. The vocal cadence, it lacks the sinister edge Chat Blanc had carried, and besides, it’s ten thousand times more likely that it’s simply her real partner. But there’s that hissing ‘what if’ that makes her throat dry. Even if it is Chat Noir…

The door swings outward, and when he peeks his head down, it’s green eyes and a quizzical expression that greets her, not the crazed grin and pale visage. It’s him, the real him, and she feels guilt knot in her stomach.

“It’s a little rude to just look into a poor girl’s bedroom uninvited like that,” Marinette manages, with a laugh that sounds too thin. Chat notices, but does not address it.

“So come up. That way, I don’t have to.”

She bundles the quilt resting atop her bed around her shoulders before obliging. The night air is unexpectedly warm with the promise of spring coming soon. Chat seems to brighten when she does come up, but even knowing it’s him, Marinette finds it hard to look at him for too long. The shadow of what he had ended up becoming, so long ago, is hard to shake.

Chat folds his arms and fixes a stare on her, but says nothing. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s up, that’s what I’m doing.”

She takes a seat on one of the patio chairs. “Nothing’s up,” is the automatic reply, but even she doesn’t buy it. Her voice sounds tired, and she knows there are shadows beneath her eyes.

“Can I get a gift receipt with that?” Chat asks with an amused grin. “Because I’m not buying what you’re sellin’.”

The joke is so ridiculous that it does force a short laugh out of her. For being so objectively dense, he is intuitive on a lot of things as well. “....I haven’t slept so good recently.”

She hopes he’ll be satisfied by the short answer, but of course, he isn’t. Instead, Chat comes over and sits in the chair just across from hers. “And that’s because…?”

Her mouth tightens into a thin line. It’s not out of stubbornness that she doesn’t want to tell him the true cause. It’s because she remembers his hurt expression whenever he comes out of an akumatized state and finds Ladybug sporting a new set of bruises from his staff. It’s the same each and every time-he never gets used to it, and neither does she.

If he’s so upset from just a short-lived fight, the news that he had destroyed each and every person in Paris with the sole intention of posessing her would crush him. She can’t let that happen. The instinct to protect him is so strong and natural, it's like the reflex to breathe.

But…

“Chat,” she begins, pulling the quilt tighter around herself. “I need you to promise me something.” 

His response is both immediate and predictable. “Anything.”

“If something…” She trails off a moment, trying to find the right words. “If something bad happened to you, like the worst thing imaginable, you’d talk to me about it, right?”

His brow knits beneath his mask. “....I’m not getting it.”

“I’m saying even if...Even if the entire world feels like it’s falling down, you have to promise that you’ll come to me first, and that you won’t do anything stupid-”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Chat reaches out to grasp her wrist in one gloves hand. The grip is gentle, barely there, a strong contrast from the suffocating clench of his villainous counterpart. “What’s going on with you? I’m perfectly okay.”

“But you won’t always be. And when that happens, you have to come find me first.” Her hand finds his and holds it, tight. “And don’t talk to anybody else until you get here.”

“You’re really freaking me out, Mari.” There’s a nervous laugh in his voice, and his other hand settles on her back. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”

Exhausted, she leans forward, resting her head against his chest. “...Yes.”

“That explains it.” Needing no further details, Chat hugs her tight. “But that’s the thing about dreams, you know? They’re just dreams.”

And for a little while, for the duration that he holds her, she believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this will grow into a collection of one shots or simply remain as it is (I'm open to suggestions.) All I know is I miss the Good Ol Days and am basically writing fiction for myself and inviting ya'll to join if you so choose.


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